


I Forget How Cold It Can Be - Ghostbur

by cutmylisp



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dream Smp, Gen, Ghostbur, l'manburg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutmylisp/pseuds/cutmylisp
Summary: Wilbur was killed. He knows this. He should be dead, but he is stuck in a purgatory between life and death with no forseeable way out. What's worse is that he doesn't remember much of his time in the world. Wilbur helps to rebuild L'manburg, a place that has known the chaos that has escaped his memory, whilst also navigating the inescapable feeling that he has unfinished business.
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After death, memories are distant. Some are unrecognisable. Where a memory once was, the cold creeps in. It is up to the being themself to plug the hole and keep the cold from filling the cracks.

It’s difficult to remember. It takes everything out of me to use my fading memory bank. I am left more of an empty shell than I already am, if that’s even possible. Every memory brings back pieces of myself that shouldn’t exist anymore. And I shouldn’t exist anymore, should I? I am not living. I am not part of the physical world. I do not have a place here. Memories tie me to the ground, even the happy ones. I’m not sure it’s right.

I have been reading in my time here, looking through stacks of old books scattered around the world that have been forgotten in the chaos, and bring them back to my growing library. I have read many stories of the great nation I led; how we prevailed through the war and declared our independence. There is one photo from this war. It is a group of us in matching uniforms. I recognise everyone – Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy, Jack, Niki and myself – but I can’t help feeling that someone is missing. The feeling is like a chilling wind passing right through me, straight from my head to my toes. Sometimes, flashes of a dark room enter my vision. It seems inescapable. It feels so cold. I’m sure that if I was still living, my hands would be shaking at this feeling. Because of this, I tend not to look at the photo, and read over the passages in the “DECREE OF INDEPENDANCE” instead.

Also, in my readings, I have found some ancient volumes of research surrounding supernatural mobs and beings that have wandered the world for centuries. There is not much information about ghosts, which is rather disappointing, but the few passages that have been written of my kind make me think. One of the lines that I often find myself thinking about is, _‘…something (is) deeply rooted in their being that keeps them from entering the afterlife…’_ I ponder on this line almost daily. What is keeping me here? What happened before I died to keep me permanently grounded to this place?

A loud, sharp creak slices the silence of the room and I turn from my nook to see a man in a beanie strut through the door of the house. His light chuckle is accompanied by a bright smile, filling the room with yellow and orange hues. My stance softens at his genuine happiness. That’s something the books don’t account for. I have found that I am able to sense auras and feel much more connected to energies of other people. I’ve become more empathetic, in a strange way. More vulnerable even. Maybe that’s what I missed while alive? Maybe that’s why I’m here.

I shut the book in my hand which produces a dry fwap of dusty pages connecting. This startles the man across the room. His eyes are wide like an owl’s and his muscles are tense. The yellow and orange covering the room immediately disappears and is replaced by a single, pale blue ring tightly encasing the man’s physical form. Once he spots me in the corner, the ring becomes looser and flows more freely around him.

“Wilbur,” He exhales sharpy, looking from me, to the floor, then back to me, “You scared me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Quackity!” I reply. “I didn’t mean to.”

He smiles, scrunches his eyes then airily laughs. A light orange begins to replace the light blue surrounding him.

“Nah, it’s okay buddy.” He says, lazily waving an arm in my direction. A grin creeps to my face slowly. Quackity can be difficult to keep up with sometimes, with his speedy talking and sudden changes in conversation topics. He is wonderful to have around though. His optimism is a nice break from the coldness I pick up from being alone. It’s much warmer when he’s around.

“Uh, so, interesting stuff?” asks Quackity, one hand in his pocket, his posture slightly slumped, and the other arm gesturing towards the book in my hand. I look back down to the dusty, maroon book in my hand. The letters carved on the front are stained darker in places and the leather is peeling back on the edges.

_‘…something deeply rooted in their being that keeps them from entering the afterlife…’_

A feeling sticks itself in the centre of my chest and chains me to where I’m standing. A winter breeze must have swept in an open window. I begin to shake all over.

_‘…something deeply rooted in their being that keeps them from entering the afterlife…’_

I grip the book in my hand with all the force I can muster.

“Nah, not really,” I reply, allowing my hand to relax, the tension lifting slightly. “Just stuff I’ve already figured out. No answers to my questions. Though, I guess this book was written by a living human, so I can’t expect much.”

Quackity’s eyes widen and his mouth opens very slightly.

“Wilbur, are you hating on my kind?” He asks, a cheeky smile growing on his face. “Duuuuuuuude! That’s fucking rude.”

I grin even wider than before and respond with, “What? No! No, you know exactly what I meant by that,” a laugh in my tone.

Quackity raises his hands to his chest, palms facing forward, a playfully defensive look dancing in his eyes. “Oh, yeah I know what you meant, Will. No, I understand completely!”

I throw my hands up. “Oh, c’mon man! You know I didn’t mean that!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Quackity chuckles, his hands falling to his sides once again. He looks back to me. The colour of the room is practically glowing with the light orange that has filled it. Orange is warm. Orange is happy. Orange is safe.

“Hey,” He starts. “Tubbo is going to have a meeting about upcoming projects for New L’manburg or something pretty soon. I was just going to grab some stuff and head over. You should come.”

His face is sincere, relaxed and casual. The meeting isn’t very important to him. Maybe he wants me to come with him for company? Although that is a nice thought, I find myself not wanting to leave this room now that it is filled to the brim with goodness. I look back down at the book in my hand.

“It’ll get you away from those boring books of yours,” Quackity murmurs. I look back up to see his cheeky grin once again. “C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

It will be good for me to take a break. I have been in here for far too long for far too little reward. Without a second thought, I place the book back on the shelf.

“Sure.”

Quackity beams. “Well, let’s get going, spirit man.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity and Ghostbur go to a meeting with the rest of the L'manburg Cabinet

There’s something else no one tells you about existing as a ghost. You are much less susceptible to the weather. The wind moves through you, the rain falls around you, the sun never reaches you. It sounds like a sad existence, I know. It was at the beginning. I have found, however, that I remember the feeling of the weather. I remember the biting cold when my clothes were drenched from the rain, the sun on blisteringly hot days, napping in the warmth of the afternoon under an autumn sun. In the middle of a storm, I can stand outside and feel the memory of the sun on my skin. This is helpful on a day like today, when the wind is howling like wild dogs. Quackity shivers with each gust, his jumper rippling under the force of the wind. He lifts an arm from his side and rubs the back of his neck which has been collecting goose bumps for some time. I do not feel the cold that he does. Instead, I am basking in warmth of an imaginary sun, letting its rays tickle my face as they dance down from above. It’s calm. It’s happy. It’s warm.

Quackity exclaims with volume, holding his beanie tightly to his head as another gust of wind hits him. I giggle at the sight. He looks at me and scowls.

“Oh yeah, laugh it up mister ‘Can’t-Feel-Anything’.” He says.

I laugh again, quieter this time. He shakes his head and looks forward again. I can see a grin being repressed by his tight lips and screwed up nose. I tilt my head and take a good look at Quackity. I don’t think we were awfully close while I was alive. I remember running against him in the election. I was arrogant. I felt anger towards him. I felt the same towards all the other running parties. Why did I feel that? Was I selfish before death? Was I a pain?

The warmth of the sun fades a little.

“I can still feel some things, you know.” I tell Quackity, hoping the subject change will bring back some warmth.

“Oh yeah,” He responds, “Like what?”

“Like, temperatures and stuff. I can control what I feel. It’s quite warm right now.” I say.

He laughs in disbelief. “No way. Not possible.”

“It is!”

“So, you can just choose to not be freezing your ass off ?”

“Yes!”

Quackity shivers and grips his jumper as another gust of wind smacks him. “I might consider becoming a ghost, because this weather is disgusting,” he scoffs.

The warm feeling comes back full strength as I smile at his struggle. I decide in this moment that it doesn’t matter what my relations with Quackity were like before now. All that matters is that we are friends now, or at least it feels like we are.

We reach the top of a pathway, pass a castle-like structure, turn the corner, then walk towards a small, open building. I squint at it. It seems familiar, but I guess everything is now. I have forgotten so many places. I hope I can remember what I learn in my time here.

Quackity struts in, opening an iron door to a small, cramped room. The wind seems to help it swing open, but it creaks and groans in retaliation anyway. I drift through the opening and Quackity follows. The door falls shut behind him with a bang. A yelp of surprise comes from the other side of the room. In the corner, near a bed and a ladder, are three people standing together. One of them has wide eyes and is in mid-jump. I recognise him as Tubbo, the president of L’manburg. Standing with him are his second in command, Tommy and the Foreman of State, my son, Fundy. Tommy snickers at his friend who catches his breath and places a hand on his chest.

“You guys scared me! Don’t do that!” Tubbo says.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I respond. Tubbo looks up at me. “It won’t happen again.”

He smiles lightly and lets his hand fall to his side. “Don’t worry about it, Will.”

“You’re late, mister Sexy-Tary of State,” says Fundy, his hands placed firmly on his hips. A sweetness fills my chest at the sight of him. My son. He has been given a powerful position in government. He’s growing into a strong man. Granted, I don’t recall most of his childhood, but still, I could not be prouder of him for where he is right now.

“I’m sorry, okay!” Quackity responds, a new volume in his voice. “I was doing stuff, give me a break.”

Fundy turns his nose up in jest. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says.

Tommy’s jaw drops. “So Quackity is allowed to be late but I’m not? Are you gonna threaten him with probation, huh? Are you?!” He exclaims, raising his arms high in the air.

“Give it a rest, Tommy,” says Tubbo, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You were late to a meeting at your own house! I think Quackity deserves a pass since he doesn’t _live here_.”

Tommy opens his mouth to retaliate but pauses when Tubbo squeezes his shoulder, grinning. Tommy scowls.

The energy in this room is strange. Chaotic, but not enough to be scary. Everyone in the room secretes a multitude of neon colours. Everyone is stressed about something, but some are feeling it more than others. Tommy, for example, is surrounded by a neon pink colour that glows brighter with every beat of his heart. Tubbo has a neon green surrounding him. As the President, he is constantly trying his best to organise and protect his people. He is frustrated by something right now. His and Tommy’s colours do not mix, in fact, they repel each other. But as Tommy calms, Tubbo’s colour becomes flatter and more peaceful and does not repel the pink as much. Tommy’s scowl begins to disappear, and his colour stops glowing. It seems that these two are on the same wavelength, the same way two brothers would be when dealing with a lost toy in the household. They have each other. It’s nice to see.

Fundy, who stands just next to Tubbo, does not have much colour surrounding him. A bright yellow collects very close to his body. Sparks fly in different directions every now and then. He’s holding something deep inside him. It’s like he’s about to burst.

As I study him, he catches my eye for a short moment. His ears twitch and his irises dance with colour, then a spark appears behind his eyes and a red wave explodes around him. It fills the room with a gossamer colour, bright enough to blind, but still transparent enough for me to see Fundy standing still, staring right at me with a look of pure discomfort. As the wave expands, the room heats immensely. It feels like I’m cooking under his stare. With another twitch of his ears, he looks away and the colour disappears. It must have only been there for a moment, but the thick, red wave leaves me blank-faced. A deep, dark feeling grows in my lower chest.

What was that?

“So,” Fundy says, swiftly ending our interaction and sucking the wave back to whence it came, “What were we called here for, Tubbo.”

Tubbo perks up at the mention of his name.

“Right! Uh,” He responds, “Well, as you all know, our nation is practically a crater right now. There’s no nicer way to put it, I’m afraid.”

“But we’ve built above it. On top of it. On stilts!” Tommy interjects.

“Oh, I know, I know, but what happens if someone falls off? We don’t want anyone to get hurt, right?” Tubbo questions.

Everyone looks at the ground, thinking, waiting for Tubbo to answer his own question.

“So, what I’m suggesting is we create a lake underneath New L’manburg.”

Quackity lights up at this. The orange around him spreads a little as he raises his head.

“We can go swimming in the summer! Imagine jumping straight from the deck into the water.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets, fists balled up in excitement. Tommy turns to him with a magnificent grin on his face. His pink colour spikes like waves in the wind.

“I can only imagine the sound it’ll make when you belly-flop, Big Q.” Tommy mutters cheekily. Quackity’s head snaps in Tommy’s direction.

“Ohh, you’d better watch your back, Innit!” Quackity exclaims.

“It’ll be a great place to fish. Might be nicer having them closer to home.” Fundy calmly interjects, his red glowing steadily now.

“Great! Well,” Tubbo says, “It seems that everyone is agreed on this idea. In that case, we need to start gathering resources to make this lake. That includes water-life, fish, sea weed and water.”

“I’ve got lots of buckets. I’ll start collecting water,” says Fundy.

“Awesome.” Tubbo replies. “Tommy, I’m sure he could use your help.”

Quackity steps forward a little. “I know a place abundant in sea-life. I can start searching.” He says.

Tubbo beams at him. “Great! Thank you Quackity! I guess I’ll begin rounding up some fish then.”

“Alright!” I say, placing my hands on my hips. Quackity, Tommy and Tubbo look in my direction. Fundy looks at the floor. “Let’s get started, men.”

The energy in the room immediately changes. Tommy’s face falls discretely and stares with wide eyes. His pink grows for second, then falls until it can barely be seen. Tubbo’s green stays relatively stable, but it becomes a constant sea swell, as if he is trying to keep himself calm. Fundy looks up from the floor, his lids lowered but his gaze aimed at me. His eyes say more than his red does. I’ve said something that I said before I died. I must have. Why else would they react like this.

“Yeah!” Quackity responds. His colour is dancing at a regular rate, much different to his peers who now look to him with eyes of warning. He catches on to this and his face falls as well. He glances at me, then back at the group. “But, maybe we should start while the weather is on our side,” says Quackity quietly.

“Yes.” Replies Tubbo, readjusting his tie. “Take the rest of the evening to plan, my friends. You are dismissed.”

Fundy, without looking up, walks out of the room and out into the wind. It whistles through the open doorway until Fundy lets go and the door slams behind him. Tommy has turned towards the right corner of the room and it muttering something, which gets Tubbo’s attention, as he turns to the same corner and places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

I’ve upset them all in ways I don’t remember. I don’t know how to stop.

“Hey,” someone behind me says. I turn to see Quackity. His orange is reaching out towards me in soft arms of light. His face softens. “Let’s trek back home.”

I look back to the corner of the room, at Tommy and Tubbo. Their colours wrap around each other as they mutter to each other. There’s nothing I can do in this moment to make them feel better.

“Yeah.” I whisper. “Yeah, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooooooooo thanks for all the love on the first chapter!   
> There should be consistent updates for a while as I am about to be on Christmas holidays!
> 
> Looking forward to the friendship between Quackity and Ghostbur hehe.
> 
> Also, this chapter was quite rushed so I apologise for any generaisations or lack of suspense. Might be a bit boring. But oh well, fun stuff will happen soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
